


Three Little Words

by Anonymous



Series: Tentacular Temptation Series [3]
Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Poresturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Squidward's been acting distant ever since that one night that SpongeBob stayed over at his house. SpongeBob has a plan to get things back to normal.
Relationships: SpongeBob SquarePants/Squidward Tentacles, Squidward Tentacles/Other(s)
Series: Tentacular Temptation Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956436
Comments: 11
Kudos: 188
Collections: Anonymous





	1. The Fancy Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Squidward is a ho and a sad gay, which is why I wrote this.
> 
> The story takes place after [_Little Popping Sounds_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550082) and [_Bubble Wrap Times A Million_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650876).

“Er, thanks,” Norton wiped his mouth and adjusted the mailbag strap over his shoulder as Squidward handed him his mailman hat. “Hope to see you again, soon.”

“You will. You see me every morning, remember?”

The fish thought for a bit, then his face lit up. “Haaah, right! Because I bring you your mail.”

“Aren’t you a smartie.”

“What I meant was outside of work. I mean, you don’t work when I work, maybe sometimes you do, but what I mean-”

“Goodbye, Norman.”

“It’s Nor-” Squidward closed his front door in the mailman’s face. “You awkward little twerp,” he mumbled as he turned around and went upstairs.

 _Why did I invite him again?_ he thought as he pulled the curtains shut in his bathroom. He turned on the hot tap in his bath, with a little bit of cold water mixed in to get that perfect temperature. Then he lowered the toilet lid and sat down to wait for the bathtub to fill up. His face cupped in both tentacles, sitting in his cold bathroom naked, he sighed.

Why would he invite the mailman into his house? Was the conversation that stimulating? He exhaled loudly; it really wasn’t.

It was probably because Squidward was such a good cook. Yeah, that was why he had invited him. That and depression. He thought back on earlier this morning.

* * *

Squidward stood in his living room, coffee in hand, looking out of the window. His eyes were lidded with exhaustion, he had rough stubble on his face. His robe would need a wash soon. He was looking right at the pineapple outside his house, as if trying to ignite the fruit with only a stare. He sighed and took another sip from his cup.

“I think I’ll prepare a fancy meal today,” he declared.

He sat down his coffee and got out his bowl, whisk, pan and other utensils. Walking over to the pantry, he grabbed the sour dough bread and sugar, then milk, eggs and butter from the fridge. He raided the spice rack, mulling over whether the cardamon would work with the flavor profile he was thinking of. He decided that yes, definitely, cardamon was a must. He cracked the eggs in the bowl and started working on the custard.

Whenever Squidward felt down in the dumps, he would prepare a fancy meal. It helped him focus on the task at hand, rather than his thoughts. He coated slices of the crusty bread in the custard and dropped them in the buttered pan.

This morning, he was preparing a particularly amazing breakfast. He layered the fried bread slices on a plate and garnished them with fresh berries. There. French toast, with real maple syrup on the side. That stuff came from trees - like the one Sandy had in her dome - and had to be imported from ashore. Like many things sitting in his pantry, Squidward had to go to great lengths to obtain it. Normally the octopus was happy to enjoy his spoils by himself, but looking at his creation, he felt this great urge to brag about it. He peered through his kitchen window again at his neighbor’s pineapple.

Then the doorbell rang.

“SpongeBob?” Could the blasted sponge smell a free breakfast and was already at his front door? It wouldn’t be the first (or hundredth) time that he had a sudden sponge in his house. Laughing and jumping around like a wind-up toy, all exhausting. All adorable. With big, blue, bright eyes.

But when he answered the door, it was the mailman.

“Package for Squidward Testicles.”

Squidward grumbled and grabbed the package out of the mailman’s fins. It was probably the new paint he had ordered. It reminded him to go get new brushes from the art supply store later. He set the package down next to his front door and was about to close it when the fish exclaimed “Hey, smells great! Is that cinnamon and a hint of clove?”

“And cardamon,” Squidward answered. For a fish who couldn’t say his name right, he sure knew his non-oceanic ingredients. Squidward was mildly impressed.

“Well, it’s just that I enjoy fancy food,” said the guy.

Now there was a guy who not only he could brag to, but had the culinary knowledge to understand exactly how impeccable Squidward’s taste was. He asked the mailman (“It’s Norman, right?” – “Norton, actually.” – “That’s what I just said.”) if he wanted to join him after his shift was over.

He watched the mailman run over to Missus Duncan’s house, ring the doorbell and throw a box in the widow’s face, before running back. “I’m free now!” Squidward could relate to his dedication to the job, which was none whatsoever.

It was nice to have someone over. The fish praised his food, and Squidward was happy to hear it. “I mean, this stuff is great, you should be a chef or something!” – “I know, I should.” – “I usually don’t eat breakfast. You know when you have to get up really early for work, and you just don’t feel like eating yet?”

“Uh-huh,” Squidward answered from the kitchen while pouring two cups of black tea. It paired better with the food than coffee did, in his opinion.

“But then when I’m on holiday and there’s a buffet, suddenly I’m a morning person and I want to eat it all, you know?

“Uh-huh.” He stopped pouring the tea.

“I mean those breakfast buffets they have at fancy hotels, not the ones where they just have little packets of cereal and they always run out of milk.”

“Uh-huh.” Squidward changed his course of action, putting the full cups in the sink instead of the table. The fish didn’t notice as he faced away from the kitchen and continued his story while eating Squidward's food.

“And then I feel like a jerk for asking for more milk, but you know, it’s my vacation, right, and they can’t even give me milk with my cereal?”

“Hm.” Squidward took off his robe and folded it up neatly before draping it over the couch and walking over to the fish.

“So, it’s a little more money, but the difference in service really…” the fish gaped at Squidward who was now standing in front of him. “You’re naked.”

“Oh?” Squidward looked down at himself like he hadn’t noticed. “I am. That’s soooo embarrassing!” He brought his tentacle to his forehead as if he couldn’t believe the mistake he had made. Then he leaned forward and took the mailman’s cap, flinging it through the air into the corner of the room. “Maybe you should take off your clothes, too, so I don’t have to be embarrassed anymore.”

* * *

Squidward got up from the toilet seat and screwed the taps closed. He tested the water with one tentacle; slightly too hot, not enough to scald him but it was going to sting a bit. If he hadn’t been lost in thought about the morning events he would’ve adjusted the temperature while filling up the bath. Oh, well.

He carefully entered the tub, lowering himself slowly. Hot water rushed into his abdominal slit; it hadn’t sealed shut yet after his recent escapades with the mailman, and the area was still very sensitive. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

 _You deserve that_ , came an unwanted thought. _For sleeping with the mailman._

When he was younger, Squidward would wait until the evening to invite someone home or stay at someone’s place. Having a one-night stand in the morning was like day-drinking, Squidward thought. He chuckled to himself. _I can quit anytime, doctor, I swear!_

It only happened because he had become overwhelmed with how annoying the mailman was when he talked! And he was eating his expensive maple syrup while doing so. He had to save his precious food and occupy the fish’s mouth in other ways. He had given the guy a helping tentacle, too. It had been a beneficial transaction for both parties.

 _I’m a true romantic like that._ He leaned back and relaxed, the pain in his groin now just a dull ache.

Then a lawnmower started blasting outside. Of course. “SpongeBob…”

Squidward swore his neighbor had been even more obnoxious these past few weeks, like he had a “Things That Annoy Squidward” list and was ticking each item off one by one. Even the lawnmower sounded louder, like it was right next to his window instead of on the lawn. Was he _mowing the roof_? Who does that? It was as if the sponge wanted Squidward to yell at him.

Instead he closed his eyes and put his head underwater with only his nose sticking out. Now he could hardly hear the droning of the rotating blades. _I can’t believe I thought about inviting him for breakfast for a moment._

While Squidward was ashamed of many things, that was his biggest shame by far. Weeks ago, during that blasted storm, he had been seduced by lust. The cheery little guy had offered a tumble in the sheets and Squidward had foolishly accepted. He had convinced himself that it was just a bit of fun and everything was going to go back to normal after. The nose poking out of the tub was snorting with laughter at the idea, spraying water like a whale breaching. _I’m a moron._

It hadn’t been SpongeBob’s fault, either! The morning after the boy had walked home as if nothing had changed, happy as ever, albeit with no clothes on. It was Squidward who had pushed his inner panic button that morning. And he hadn’t calmed down since. It hadn't been like Squidward's usual bad taste in mating partner. It had been the absolute _worst_ pick ever. His face grew hot in the bath, out of shame or because of the hot water, he couldn’t tell.

There was no way he could’ve invited SpongeBob for breakfast. He could see the disaster unfold in his mind’s eye. The sponge’s eyes would’ve gone all big and soft at the invitation, and his voice shrill as he accepted. He would’ve loudly praised his food, giving details as to why it was amazing in general and why SpongeBob loved it in particular. And Squidward would’ve been like, aw shucks, it’s not that great, fishing for more compliments. SpongeBob would’ve been like, no, it really is great, because you’re great. And then Squidward would’ve gone weak, and he would’ve invited him to bed again, and SpongeBob would’ve said _I love you_ and Squidward would’ve jumped head first into the nearest sea bear’s mouth, because how dare this box of a man say those three little words so easily!?

Squidward lifted his head out of the tub, the hot water splashing over the lip onto the floor from his sudden movements. He felt lightheaded and out of breath. His three hearts were racing. The lawnmower droned a thousand times louder than before. His thoughts had triggered his fight-or-flight reaction, which to his body meant flight, always.

He rushed out of the bathtub and stumbled through big puddles out of the bathroom. He had to get as much mileage as possible between himself and the noise of the lawnmower. In the hallway, he toppled over and didn’t make it back up again, legs weak. He crawled the rest of the way into the bedroom and into his bed, chest heaving as he sat down. Across the bed hung one of his paintings – _Sea Bear Attacks_. It pictured a scared sea star and yellow sponge running from a sea bear. It was the painting preceding his other work, _Hero Slays Sea Bear_.

The tunnel vision prevented him from seeing the whole picture though, focusing only on the animal’s pointy fangs. _Come on_ , the sea bear taunted him. _Jump in._ He couldn’t sit up anymore, the demands from the sea bear pressing him into the bed.

Squidward was wet from the bath and panic sweat, and now the sheets were soaked, too. At least he was looking up now, not at the bear. _At least I didn’t ink the bed._ Finally, he was cooling down and he started to draw deep breaths again. He closed his eyes. His fancy meal sat on the kitchen table downstairs, cold and soggy and untouched.

“Fish paste, fish paste, fish paste, fish paste…” he repeated like a mantra, so as to drown out any other thoughts, until he passed out.


	2. SpongeBob's Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How has SpongeBob been doing since his night with Squidward?

“5 more minutes, Gary…” SpongeBob mumbled into his pillow while outstretching his arm. His alarm was blaring, and he was blindly trying to press the red off switch. After eight loud _HOOOONK!_ ’s from his alarm, he opened his eyes. His alarm clock was all the way on the other side of the bedroom. “Whu…?” He was confused for a second but then he remembered.

“Gary… turn off the alarm, please?” But the snail had already left, probably waiting next to his food bowl downstairs.

Still tired, SpongeBob closed his eyes again, rolled out of bed and belly crawled towards his alarm clock, not using his tired arms or legs, grunting with each movement. He then lay on his back and used his long, stretchy tongue to turn off the alarm.

“This is not a long-term solution,” the sponge declared.

He got up to push his bed back to its original place next to the alarm clock. The bed had moved across the room during the night, like the night before and many nights before that, for weeks now. SpongeBob had always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning even when he had the nicest dreams of flying and jellyfishing, but never so much that the bed moved. These past few weeks had been different, though.

 _Maybe I have to nail the bed to the floor_ , SpongeBob thought as he got ready for work. Once he was dressed and had fed Gary, he was out the door. _Or I have to stop moving around so much._ He’d figure it out after work.

When he got to the restaurant, Mister Krabs and Squidward were already there.

“Good morning, Mister Krabs!”

“Mornin’, boyo! You’re in good spirits!”

SpongeBob laughed. “I always am on days I get to come here, Mister Krabs. And a jolly good morning to you, Squidward!”

“Morning,” Squidward mumbled into his art magazine. He didn’t look at SpongeBob, as per usual. Nevertheless the sponge walked into the kitchen with a big, unchanging grin.

It only lasted until the kitchen door closed behind him. Smiling bigger and bigger, the sponge ground his teeth together with such force that tears ran down his eyes from the strain, then the teeth exploded out of his mouth, raining down onto the floor.

“What’s going on, me boy? That sounded like your face exploded.”

“Only from joy, Mister Krabs,” SpongeBob gummed his words like an old man, but grew the teeth back the next moment. And now he had to sweep up the teeth from the kitchen floor. One of his less appetizing moments, for sure.

 _But still no comment from Squidward_ , SpongeBob thought. He grabbed a pen from the counter opposite the grill, and a small notebook from inside one of his pores.

Several weeks now SpongeBob had tried to get a comment out of Squidward, something more than “Morning” or “Fine” or “Uneventful”, but with no luck. He had started writing down ideas of how to get his friend to talk to him. And because Squidward talked the most and the loudest when he was annoyed, many of SpongeBob’s ideas were annoying.

At the bottom of the list titled “Things That Annoy Squidward” he wrote down “Exploding Teeth”, immediately crossing that one out. It hadn’t been on the list originally, SpongeBob hadn’t done it on purpose. That had happened naturally, from sheer frustration. He put the notebook away, picked up the broom and started sweeping.

SpongeBob hated to admit it, but after so many tries to get a rise out of Squidward, the strain was getting to him. It hadn’t started out with annoying Squidward, though!

* * *

At first it was just a friendly “Good morning” in bed. He knew Squidward could be grumpy in the morning at times, he had been kicked out of the house many times in the mornings, especially if he had snuck in during the night. But he thought after spending a wonderful night together he would get more than a wordless grumble for an answer. Sometimes Squidward was in one of his moods where he would sleep all day and not talk, and SpongeBob knew that. But he had hoped that today of all days, Squidward would be happy.

SpongeBob stayed chipper the whole morning though, trying to make up for Squidward’s bad mood.

“You have the fanciest bread, Squidward,” he said over breakfast. “I should bring over some jellyfish jelly some day. I didn’t get to harvest any yesterday. But next time.” Squidward didn’t say anything to that, only flinching at the phrase “next time”. _Was that too forward?_ SpongeBob thought.

SpongeBob was not used to thinking such things. He was always forward, and when Squidward started yelling, that’s how he knew when to stop. But he didn’t know how to deal with a silent octopus.

He thought about the time he ran into Squidward at the museum (or followed him there, it doesn’t matter), and they had looked at the Patlantis exhibition. There’d been a statue of a big sea star holding a giant round bolder. “That’s Patlas. He’s been tricked into holding up the world for all eternity. Only a sea star, right, SpongeBob?”

That was back when Squidward still talked to him. It already felt like ages ago, and this had only been a silent breakfast so far. Now SpongeBob was Patlas, an idiot who has been tricked into holding up the conversation for two people.

He said his goodbyes much quicker than he had planned that morning, running out the door so fast that he didn’t notice he had been naked the whole time until Squidward’s door shut behind him. He ran back to his pineapple where Gary greeted him.

“Oh, Gare-bear, you need breakfast, too! One moment, honey.” He took a deep breath and put his thumb in his mouth, blowing into it like a balloon until the extra set of clothes stored in his body popped to the surface. Fully dressed again, he went to feed Gary.

He was distracted with that and other morning chores, until he made his way to the Krusty Krab, where Squidward still ignored him. After hours of silence SpongeBob tried his best jokes on the octopus to cheer him up.

“Hey, Squidward! Why did the guy who lived next to a bolder fish and a fresh water fish want to move? Because he was stuck between a rock and a hard plaice! Dahahahaha!”

And there, Squidward’s eyebrow twitched! Not with amusement, but anger. _Well_ , SpongeBob thought. _That’s something._

All SpongeBob wanted was to make Squidward happy. But he didn’t know how to do that if his favorite next-door neighbor didn’t talk to him. So maybe he would have to make him angry first, to get him to talk, and then he’ll get a chance to make him happy, later.

Determined, SpongeBob got a notebook and started his list. He wrote down “Hilarious Joke” and crossed it out. _Close, but no sea star._

* * *

Back home from work, SpongeBob sat down in his living room chair and ruminated over the list. He thought trying to take a shellfie with Squidward on his new clamshell phone would annoy Squidward for sure, but he had just pushed SpongeBob away, not a word. He hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to try the SnapperChat filters. SpongeBob crossed _Shellfie_ off the list.

He leaned back and sighed. Every failed attempt to get Squidward to talk made him feel more stupid. Why was he being so difficult? Had his night with SpongeBob been that awful?

SpongeBob hadn’t thought so. He had liked it a lot. He’d been ecstatic when Squidward had put his tentacles on him. Just thinking about them SpongeBob lay down the notebook and rubbed his fingers around the rims of his pores, the exact ones that Squidward had touched. Actually, Squidward had used three tentacles on him. The sponge strained for a moment before a third arm popped out of his side and then started to finger another pore, just like Squidward had done.

“Oh…” SpongeBob moaned and his hips started moving. He usually didn’t do this in the living room, should he move to the bed? _That stupid bed…_

It moved every time he touched himself! He would think back on that night at Squidward’s house, or he’d create a new fantasy in his head of how Squidward would make him feel amazing. Then, his movements would steer the bed across the room inch by inch, like a cumbersome rocking-seahorse. By the time he felt happy and exhausted, he’d be too tired to move the bed back, and he’d fall asleep immediately, pores still tingling.

The sponge had never had that problem before, and he’d been touching his pores for a long time now. Even when he was a young sponge living with his parents, he’d close the door to his room and fiddle with them. It helped him feel calm when he got too excited, or stressed, or just bored, or when he couldn’t fall asleep.

The recent mating with Squidward had awakened something in him, though. Something that made his hips twitch and his pelvis rock back and forth. It made his pores throb and his heart pound, and he couldn’t catch his breath. His holes would close tighter and tighter with every touch, and he couldn’t stop rubbing them until all his pores opened and closed wildly, releasing the tension and making SpongeBob yell with how good it felt.

Or it would stop when the inflatable chair popped under him with a giant _SPLAT_ , like it had now.

“Ow!” SpongeBob exclaimed as he landed on the edge of his butt. He retracted his extra arm and used the usual two to rub the sore spot. The bed would’ve been the better option for this.

But it gave him an idea! He picked up the notebook again. “Popping A Giant Balloon Next To Squidward’s Face” might annoy him. It had certainly startled SpongeBob.

He still had to cross out some other ideas he had tried already. Once he read through all the failed attempts again, his mood shifted back to frustrated.

“Hello, SpongeBob!” Patrick walked in with a big bag of pink fluorescent water balloons that he tossed on the ground. They had arranged for him to come over to prepare things for tomorrow and SpongeBob had almost forgotten about it. SpongeBob blushed. _I’m glad he didn’t walk in a few moments earlier, before I popped the chair…_

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked on his way to the fridge when he saw SpongeBob sitting on the floor looking down in the dumps. “Is that notebook you’re holding making you mad? Should I throw it away for you?”

“No, Patrick, but thanks.” SpongeBob crossed out “Talking About Sports”. The problem with that one had been that even though Squidward hated sports, SpongeBob didn’t know anything about sports, either, so all he could do was yell “Go Land Krabs!” until Mister Krabs asked him to stop.

“It’s not the notebook, it’s Squidward,” SpongeBob explained to his friend, who was now holding an ice cream cone he had obtained from SpongeBob’s freezer. Patrick looked at the notebook long and hard.

“I don’t know, SpongeBob. It looks like a notebook to me.” Then the sea star looked at his frozen treat. “Wait, then who is that!?”

“It’s just an ice cream, Patrick. And this is just a notebook.”

“Where is Squidward, then?”

“Probably in his house, ignoring me!” SpongeBob surprised himself with how angry he sounded. It wasn’t like him at all! But the octopus had brought it out in him. Patrick had picked up on it, too, and though he didn’t know what was going on between his two friends, he wanted to help out.

“Then let’s go say hi to him,” he took SpongeBob by the hand, notebook landing on the floor.

“Patrick, no. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Well…. Does he want to talk to me?”

That gave SpongeBob pause. Squidward had no problem talking to other people. In fact, whenever Mister Krabs invited them into his office for a managerial meeting, Squidward even talked to SpongeBob. Only about whose turn it was to clean gum from under the tables (it was always SpongeBob’s turn), but still, a one-on-one conversation with real words, nouns and verbs and everything. It was as if Squidward was his normal self again if he thought a third person was around. It gave SpongeBob an idea.

“Patrick, you’re a genius!”

“I know, but can you tell me how exactly.”

“No problem, Patrick. I have an idea. Remember our plans for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’s why I brought the balloons, remember?”

“Well, I need you to _not_ come over tomorrow.”

“But why? I thought we’d look at the jellyfish together!”

“I know, and I really wanted to do that, too. But this is important. Will you help out your buddy?”

Patrick looked at SpongeBob’s big, sad eyes. He still didn’t understand why they couldn’t hang out tomorrow, but if it was important to his friend… he ate the ice cream in one bite and put his now free but sticky hands on SpongeBob's shoulders. “Of course, buddy.”

* * *

Yesterday when he had told Patrick his plan, he’d felt great about his idea and excited to be able to talk to Squidward again. Now, the next day, he doubted his plan.

 _Is it lying?_ he asked himself. No… he wasn’t going to say anything untrue to Squidward. He would just not tell him everything. Therefore omitting the truth. Which is lying. _Oh, Neptune…_

He went outside to open the garage door. It didn’t matter if it was lying or not. It was necessary to get his friendship back. _And maybe something more than friendship._

Patrick had helped him fill the glowing pink balloons with water, and he would put them on the roof today to let them soak in sunlight, making them glow even brighter tonight. After mowing the lawn on his roof of course. He was preparing it for the event.

He got the lawnmower out of the garage and walked back to his front door. Then he heard Squidward’s voice. He couldn’t make out what he said but hearing him made SpongeBob turn his head.

SpongeBob couldn’t see Squidward, but he knew he stood in his doorway because Norton the mailman was there, talking to him. _Oh, perfect,_ SpongeBob thought. That was probably the new paint Squidward had ordered. Which meant he’d go out and buy brushes later, and SpongeBob would be able to initiate his plan.

Norton was still talking to Squidward, for quite a while after handing him his package. It seemed like a friendly conversation, too. Like Squidward was being nice to the mailman. Well, if Squidward was in a good mood, that was good news for SpongeBob’s plan.

Then suddenly, the mailman ran away. The force of him leaving created a pressure wave that caught SpongeBob’s tie and turned it around, so the tie ended up on his back. As fast as the mailman had left, he had returned to Squidward’s house again, a second pressure wave returning SpongeBob’s tie to its original position, only now his face had been blown to the other side of his body. _What is going on?_

Just as SpongeBob righted himself, he saw the mailman walk into Squidward’s house. Oh no, Squidward wasn’t going to like that. He’d kick Norton out any second now. _And then he’s going to be mad for the rest of the day and my plan won’t work. Thanks, mailman!_ SpongeBob felt immediately bad about his mean thoughts. But he needed to talk to Squidward, and a sour mood would not be helpful at all.

Squidward didn’t kick the mailman out. The fish was still inside the house. It’s as if Squidward had invited him to come in.

_Huh._

SpongeBob ran back inside, lawnmower in tow, and shut the front door of the pineapple behind him. The octopus never invited anybody into his house and SpongeBob didn’t know what to make of it. He hoped Squidward hadn’t seen SpongeBob watch him and the fish. He wanted to talk to Squidward, but not about what just happened. He had so many questions.

_Why does the mailman get to talk to Squidward, and I don’t?_

Okay, maybe he had just one question.

“Meow?” asked Gary.

“Oh, me? Do I look mad?”

That’s when he caught his reflection in the television – he looked as mad as Patrick when he couldn’t see his forehead. He hadn’t realized he was making that face.

“I’m not mad at you, sweetie, I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t going to get angry about this. Squidward could invite whoever he wanted into his house if it made him happy. He wished Squidward all the happiness in the world. _I just want to be part of it…_

SpongeBob closed his eyes and shook his head. _Stop it, sponge boy! You sound jealous._ SpongeBob didn’t want to think about it any longer. He had a plan for tonight, he was going to stick to it, and that was that.

But if Norton stayed the whole day, his plan was not going to work. It kind of hinged on the assumption that Squidward would go outside today.

SpongeBob looked out of his porthole window facing Squidward’s house and waited. Surely the mailman was going to come out soon. The sponge didn’t blink, afraid he’d miss the fish leaving.

A long, long, _loooong_ while later, Squidward’s front door opened and Norton slinked out. SpongeBob’s unblinking eyes had become red and brittle by then and turned into dust when Squidward slammed his door shut. SpongeBob’s eyeballs grew back in time to see the mailman put on his cap and leave.

He looked at the clock. It was mid-morning, so Squidward might still go to the store today. He needed to go mow the roof and prepare it, if there was even a slim chance that this was going to work, he was going to be ready.

He carried the lawnmower upstairs, grunting with every step, then pulled the cord on the ceiling to open the latch to the roof. He tossed some blankets and a jacket up on the roof, too, as it was going to be cold that night. Getting the lawnmower up on the roof was much harder without any help. But he had sent Patrick away because of the plan, and Squidward didn’t want to spend time with him anymore. He suddenly felt very alone.

But when he finally managed to heave the lawnmower up onto the roof and turned it on, determination washed over his body.

This was going to be good. This was going to get him his friend back. It had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So SpongeBob's never had an orgasm before being with Squidward. But don't tell Squidward or he's gonna faint.
> 
> If you like the story you should tell me in the comments!


	3. Three Little Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SpongeBob executes his plan. SpongeBob's + Squidward's friendship restored... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the imagery of glowing jellyfish is not new, they used it in the musical. It's just such a neat idea, I had to include it.

“Good afternoon, Squidward! Thanks for breaking my fall!” Squidward had walked past his neighbor’s house to go to the art supply store and was greeted with a lap full of sponge raining down from above. The fool had just fallen off his pineapple’s roof and onto Squidward, and he was not going to ask him why.

“Thanks for breaking my back.”

SpongeBob laughed like Squidward had told a hilarious joke. “What did you do this fine morning? I hope my lawnmower didn’t wake you up?”

So cheerful, that sponge, so grating. ‘ _This fine morning’? Who says that?_ He pushed him off his lap and stood up. “Just the routine.”

SpongeBob got up as well. “Oh. What’s your routine?”

_You know, I hate myself, find a stranger and I sleep with them, then hate myself some more._

“Uneventful.”

“Okay?”

And now he made the sponge look sad.

“What are you up to today, SpongeBob?” That cheered the boy up, just like Squidward knew it would. _Please let me go, Sponge, or I will say something I will regret. Like I’m sorry, or do you want to come with me, or three little words._

“Actually, the migration of the glowing jellyfish is starting tonight, so I am setting up the roof of the pineapple to see the show!” So that’s why the sponge had been mowing the roof. It actually sounded kind of koral. Every year Squidward missed the migration because he wasn’t a jelly head like his neighbors, and every year he was slightly disappointed when he realized that he had slept through it again. “You want to come, Squidward?”

Oh no. Alone with SpongeBob, under a romantic cloud of glowing jellies? “I’m busy.”

“Aw, come on! It’s going to be fun. Patrick is going to bring jellyfish hats and we set up glowing decoys to make the jellyfish come closer.”

 _If Patrick is coming as well then maybe it won’t be too bad,_ was something Squidward had never thought before, but it was true now. He preferred not being home alone tonight. With that sea bear across from his bed.

“Alright. I may be able to move things around in my schedule.”

“Hooray! Come at nightfall and bring goggles!”

* * *

The sponge’s door was never locked. Squidward walked in and looked around.

“Hey, Gary. SpongeBob and Patrick are upstairs?”

“Meow.”

“Thanks.” He walked up and saw the trap door to the roof was open. He climbed up the ladder.

It had grown quite cold already in the twilight, and on the roof a light breeze made it slightly cooler again. He saw SpongeBob sit on a picnic blanket, his back turned to the trap door. He was wearing a jellyfish-shaped hat and a puffy green jacket. He looked like a bush of algae with a massive jellyfish sitting on it. _He looked adorable._

“Come sit on the blanket,” SpongeBob didn’t even turn around when he addressed Squidward, just looking up to where the jellyfish weren’t yet. Squidward joined him on the blanket and wrapped himself in an extra blanket SpongeBob had laid out for him.

“I couldn’t find goggles,” he said.

“That’s okay. They will come close enough so we can see them.”

They were surrounded by pink, glowing water balloons, about the size of baby jellyfish. That must’ve been the decoys.

“They’re not going to attack us over these, are they?” Squidward inquired and kicked away one of the balloons that had invaded his personal bubble.

“Nah, they’re too shy to come close,” he turned to look at Squidward for a second and the octopus was stumped. Were his eyes always this big? And where was moron number two?

“Is Patrick inside? I didn’t see him.”

“He went home.” SpongeBob looked up again.

“What? Why?” Squidward peeked through the foliage of the roof and indeed saw Patrick sitting atop his rock, wearing his jellyfish hat.

“Because I asked him to.”

Squidward felt his breathing become shallow again. “You said he was going to come over. You lied?”

When SpongeBob looked at him this time, his eyes were narrowed, not all big and watery and inviting like moments ago. He must’ve not liked being called a liar, _which he was_. “He did come over to bring the hats. I didn’t say he was going to _stay_ over.”

Whatever the sponge had planned with him, he wasn’t okay with it. “That’s lying!”

“I know!” the sponge conceded, sounding unhappy with himself. “And I’m really, really sorry, Squidward!”

“What else did you lie about. Did you even fall off the roof today, or were you just trying to get on my lap?”

“That was me being clumsy, actually,” SpongeBob confessed. “It’s just, you’ve been avoiding me for a while now, and I didn’t know how to-”

“I’m avoid you!? How could I avoid you? I see you every day at work, and at home.” He was getting lightheaded again, like this morning.

“And you don’t say a thing! You don’t even yell at Patrick and me when we’re too loud. You don’t say anything to me when Gary eats from your flower beds.”

Squidward had had a feeling that little guy had been sending his pet out to do that. SpongeBob really had been more obnoxious on purpose!

“I talk to you, SpongeBob. I wish for one day that you didn’t ask me how my day was going.” He could see he was riling up SpongeBob, too. It was satisfying. He didn’t particularly enjoy being the angry one all the time, it was a refreshing change of pace to see the sponge’s eyebrows lowered with rage. The stupid hat and the ridiculously cute jacket made it even more hilarious.

“I wish for a day you didn’t answer with ‘routine’ or ‘uneventful’. Inviting the mailman into your house is routine?”

SpongeBob had seen them, then. And when he had asked Squidward about his day, he had wanted to know about the mailman. _What did you do this fine morning indeed._ It was getting harder and harder to breathe. He was feeling hot again, like in the bath. He threw off the blanket. “Why do you want to know what I was doing with the mailman?” _Was SpongeBob jealous?_

“I don’t know. Why do you not want to tell me?” It was scary how the sponge’s voice dripped with distaste.

“I don’t have to-” he choked on his words and he couldn’t see the sponge in front of his face anymore. He couldn’t see anything except the sharp fangs of a sea bear. He knew there wasn’t really a sea bear attacking him, but his body didn’t care. Fight or flight.

“Squidward!” All anger had faded from SpongeBob’s voice, now he only sounded concerned. _It’s true, I am a concerning specimen of an octopus. Two episodes in one day, Squidward, well done._

Squidward lay down on the picnic blanket – potential onlookers might have said he collapsed on it, but he would’ve disagreed – and closed his eyes. He blindly shoo-ed away distant calls of his name as he concentrated on regaining his breath. _Fish paste, fish paste, fish paste…_ he repeated in his head, he didn’t know how long.

He opened his eyes again when his breathing had evened out. It would’ve been dark by now, if a vast swarm of jellyfish hadn’t bathed everything in a pink glow. It was an amazing sight. This had been happening every year, and he had drawn his curtains on it?

“Beautiful…” he marveled.

“Squidward! I was so worried! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. You’re right, it’s none of my business. Oh, this was a bad plan…” SpongeBob was hunched over looking at Squidward. He probably had been looking at him the whole time. How could SpongeBob look at him instead of that amazing spectacle above them?

“Lie down, SpongeBob. Next to me.” Squidward could not deal with SpongeBob’s apologies right now. It meant that it was his turn next.

The sponge hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say more, but then lay down next to the octopus. They both looked up and Squidward enjoyed the silence for a while.

“I’m glad you came here to watch this with me,” SpongeBob said after many minutes of contemplation. It was the least upsetting and most encouraging thing that he could say without lying about the situation. Squidward appreciated the effort. It made him feel bad for what he was about to say next.

“I slept with the mailman.”

Silence. Long, long, _loooong_ silence.

Then, “Oh?” SpongeBob was trying to sound casual.

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you what I did ‘this fine morning’. Because it was the mailman. Hah!” He barked a single laugh. _I did the mailman._

“You don’t have to be ashamed to tell me, Squidward! You don’t have to hide your boyfriend, I’m happy if you’re happy and-”

“Boyfriend!?” Squidward sat up so quickly his head hit his knees, and SpongeBob, surprised, sat up, too. Squidward recovered quickly and looked at SpongeBob baffled. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just some guy. You think I’d be embarrassed if I had a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed at all.” Poor kid looked so sad and confused.

“I’m a mess, SpongeBob!” Squidward’s voice broke at the last syllable of the sponge’s name, and SpongeBob had definitely noticed. _Am I about to cry? I don’t care._ “I sleep with a bunch of people I don’t like and I don’t know why. Next week, I’ll probably visit Larry when he closes his gym. When we’re done, I’ll make fun the protein shakes he sells until he kicks me out.” _I’ll probably call Squilliam on his shell phone soon if I keep going down this road._ And SpongeBob thought a secret boyfriend was the problem.

“Boyfriend? Norman. Hah!”

“You mean Norton? The mailman?”

Squidward didn’t answer but kept talking. “Having a boyfriend would be the ideal scenario. I could tell Mama to stop trying to set me up with her hairdresser.” Who he had slept with, by the way. “I _wish_ I had a boyfriend.”

“Huh.” Was all SpongeBob said, but Squidward knew exactly what he meant.

“Trust me, Sponge. You think you want this, but you don’t.” He pointed at himself like he was the joke prize at a gameshow. The sea donkey behind curtain number two. “And if you want to say anything else to me today, please don’t make it three little words. I already feel like I’m going to pass out.” He pulled a picnic blanket all the way up to under his nose as he reclined. _For safety._ “Now let’s stop talking and watch the jellyfish.”

SpongeBob joined him and didn’t say a thing. Squidward had managed to render the sponge speechless. Had that ever happened before? Was his friend ever going to talk to him again? Did he already miss SpongeBob talking, the minute after he told him to stop talking? And was it ironic to talk about boyfriends while bathed in a pink glow?

After a long while of watching the jellyfish go by, SpongeBob's hand grabbed Squidward’s tentacle from underneath the blanket. He squeezed real tight. Squidward let it happen.

When it grew too cold, they silently decided to go back inside. Squidward walked out the front door and back to his place, and SpongeBob followed him without saying a word. In fact they both didn’t talk the whole way from the roof to his house. Patrick was nowhere to be seen. He was probably under his rock.

“That was a nice evening,” Squidward lied. It had been mixed at best. But he didn’t have the energy to recap the day and he didn’t know how to deal with a silent sponge. “Goodnight.”

Before he could leave, SpongeBob squeezed him like a vice. It was supposed to be a hug, but it felt like a wrestling move. The sponge’s face was buried in his shirt; Squidward probably looked like he had a green puffy growth on his side and a jellyfish was attacking it.

“Something on your mind?” Squidward joked. _I don’t know if I’m joking or choking at this point_ , he thought as SpongeBob’s grip tightened. SpongeBob turned his face away from Squidward’s torso so he could answer.

“Yes. But you told me not to say it.” Ah, yes, three little words. The sponge also sounded choked, but by emotion, not by yellow rubber band arms trying to squeeze the ink out of his sack.

“Well, I appreciate you respecting my wishes.”

SpongeBob untangled himself but still held onto Squidward’s arms as he looked up at him. His long eyelashes were glistening with wetness. Why did the most attractive eyes Squidward had ever seen reside in this little crybaby dork’s face?

“Am I just some guy you don’t like, Squidward?”

“Huh?”

“You said you sleep with people, and then you regret it after. And I’m one of those people, right?”

Oh, Neptune. Now the sponge tears started flowing for real. Squidward’s hearts were going to explode any second.

“Sponge, you’re so much more than some guy, okay? You’re my friend.”

SpongeBob sniffed and blinked stinging tears out of his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yes, a good friend. And I shouldn’t have dragged you into my problems just because I was thinking with my mating arm. I told you, I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess, Squidward,” even though SpongeBob was crying, he was the one comforting him. _I’m so pathetic._

“I’ve got three little words for you, you want to hear them?” SpongeBob asked.

“SpongeBob, don’t-”

“Love yourself more.” SpongeBob sounded stern when he said it, like Squidward’s mom telling him to go clean his room when he was a kid.

“Thanks. I’ll write that down, so I don’t forget,” he said sarcastically.

“Maybe you should.”

“Alright, goodnight, SpongeBob.” He turned the sponge around and gently patted him on the back to usher him home.

“Goodnight.” The sponge didn’t walk back home but continued his way toward Patrick’s rock. Squidward was glad the little guy had someone to talk to. _He’ll be fine. Right? He’ll be fine._

* * *

The night was no longer illuminated by jellyfish, but Squidward couldn’t sleep anyway. His thoughts were racing, but not in any particular direction. He tried to focus on a single thought, one that wasn’t _fish paste_ or other swears.

 _Love yourself more._ Oh, Sponge.

Squidward liked fancy hotels with nice buffets. He and the mailman could’ve had a conversation about that. He should go to a fancy hotel soon.

_Love yourself more._

Larry was a good guy. Squidward could admire his business acumen regarding the protein shakes, even if he’d never touch one. Maybe he’d visit Larry during the day and use the gym instead of making fun of it.

_Love yourself more._

And Squilliam… could go fish himself.

_Love yourself more._

Squidward got up and briskly walked over to his gallery room. He turned on the lights, pulled out a canvas, his paint, his new brushes. This wasn’t going to be a masterpiece, but he had to get it out of his system.

He dipped his broadest brush in a can of thick black paint and covered the canvas with it. No time to let it dry to apply the next coat of paint, he splattered on the white with a smaller brush. A night ocean with streaks of white trying to break through the thick black blanket. Half the white paint landed on the canvas, the other half on his face and body, but he paid it no attention.

Finally, he pried open one of the brand-new buckets of paint with his suckers, too much in a hurry to find the palette knife to loosen the lid. When it burst open vibrant pink paint spilled over his face and tentacles and some on the floor. He dunked the brush in the paint and carved round shapes into the canvas with the tip, scraping off the black and replacing it with pink. This was not a technique any artist would defend him for, and Squidward looked like he was fighting the canvas, not painting it. But with the second, third, fourth coat of paint, one could start to see the pink blobs for the clouds of jellyfish that they were representing.

Squidward took a few steps back, looked at the canvas from a distance. It was blotchy and uneven, and his lack of technique had warped the canvas. He nodded in approval and carried the painting to the bedroom, leaving pink tentacle prints where he’d grabbed it. He leaned it against his dresser while removing the sea bear painting from the wall. Hung the new canvas up in its place, adjusted the angle. Sat back on the bed and looked at his new work from across the room. It already had a name before he had started to paint it.

Love Yourself More.

 _So I don’t forget,_ he had told the sponge _._

SpongeBob had a bubbly personality that desired a lot of attention. Ignoring him was basically a form of torture, and no way to treat a friend. _Tomorrow, I will ask him if he wants to go to work together._ And after that? Who knows. Maybe he could apologize without getting a nosebleed from it.

Squidward felt good about his plan for tomorrow. The cogs in his head were finally slowing. Exhaustion flooded his body and pinned him to his bed. He smelled the paint on his face, black and white and pink. _If I’m lucky the paint fumes will knock me out._ He tried to drown out cynical thoughts like that. _Love yourself more, moron._

It wasn’t a switch he could flip instantly in his head. It was going to be a while before he could feel truly good about himself. He had a long road ahead of him, and the thought was daunting enough to tire out any man.

But just maybe it would be worth it. Maybe there would be someone to love him back, at the end of that road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day they'll be happy.
> 
> Comment if you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Send me kudos and a comment if you liked it!


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